


Your Mother's Eyes

by Xiaojian



Category: Far Cry 4
Genre: Angst, Crossdressing, Dubious Consent, Guilt, M/M, Manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 11:35:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6115259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xiaojian/pseuds/Xiaojian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's wrong, and they both know it. Ajay doesn't care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Mother's Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a request from farcry4-kinkmeme on dreamwidth.

It was wrong.

That was what it came down to. It was wrong in every way. No matter what Ajay told him he wanted, no matter what he was horrified to find himself wanting, it was wrong. He was a right bastard, he’d be the first to admit that, but there were some lines even he wasn’t willing to cross.

No matter how many times the boy asked – and there it was, there was the first problem, Ajay was just a boy, barely a man, less than half his age, and if things had worked out differently he could have been Pagan’s _child_. 

No matter how much Ajay tried to persuade him, no matter how much he found himself wanting to agree, when the boy looked at him he saw his mother’s eyes, and he knew that there was no way he could let this go on, if only out of respect for Ishwari.

If she were here, Ishwari would bloody well murder him if he let Ajay have what he wanted.

So he didn’t. He was still kind to the boy, of course he was. He was already breaking his heart by rejecting him, the least he could do was try his best to be a suitable father figure. Heaven knows the bastard that was Ajay’s real father hadn’t filled the role. 

He didn’t exactly make it subtle that he was grooming Ajay into Kyrat’s new ruler, but that was the beautiful thing: The boy didn’t seem to care. Having learned the truth of his family and his mother’s final wish, Ajay Ghale seemed to have finally found some peace in his life. He was content to learn the ways of Kyrat’s king, if that was what Pagan wanted.

But he brushed off the touches. He ignored the glances. He refused, in no unclear terms, the verbal requests. For himself, for Ajay, for Ishwari – for everyone, really. It was better this way.

But then he was high. He was always high, really, he couldn’t recall a day of sobriety in the last several years. But the night when it all went to shit, he was _really_ high, and he couldn’t tell up from down. He was sprawled on his bed, feet on the pillow (it was too much work to twist himself around), and there was this jingling sound as someone opened his door and walked inside.

“Fuck off,” he muttered, or maybe shouted, he didn’t really have a good grasp on his vocal processes at the moment, but then he shut up and _stared_ , because Ishwari was taking a seat on his bed, reaching out to touch his face.

Ishwari was dead.

Ishwari was here.

He mumbled her name, half a question, half a statement, reached out to touch her and make sure she was real. She felt real. She felt real, and warm, and alive. He ran his hand along the folds of her dress, the colorful fabric cutting through the dark room and his dizzy, clouded vision. He touched her check, and it felt different, off, rougher than he remembered, but he didn’t care because –

Her eyes. He knew she was real, because no one else had eyes like hers. 

He said her name again, struggled to sit up, took her into his arms. She was so warm. How could this be a drug-induced hallucination, when she was so warm?

“I’m here,” she whispered, and her voice was off too, the accent wrong, the timbre too coarse. He pulled back and squinted at her, but no, no, her eyes. No one else had eyes like hers. No one except – 

“Ajay?”

His suspicion was confirmed when those eyes widened, filled with panic.

“Pagan, please – ”

“Get out of here.” He shoved him away, his head spinning. He fell back on the bed, squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to forget. A weight settling over his body prevented that.

“Please. Just this once. I’ll never ask again. I just – I need this.”

“Go to sleep, Ajay.”

“ _Please_. Can’t you see? I’ve lost everything, I’m alone in a strange place – ”

“You’re not alone. You have me.” The response is instinctual, a fatherly instinct to reassure and cheer up. His breath stops when he feels lips press against his.

“No, I don’t,” Ajay whispers against his mouth. “I want to.”

God help him.

_Ishwari, forgive me._


End file.
